


The Old Willow Tree

by Nuinzilien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/pseuds/Nuinzilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits are suckers for a hard-luck case.  When Merry and Pippin hear about Treebeard's, they're determined to do something about it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Willow Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naugrimmellon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Naugrimmellon).



“I thought this would be like camping when we were tweens.”

Merriadoc ‘Merry’ Brandybuck only barely kept from rolling his eyes. “We’re not exactly in Frogmorton, Pippin. “

“Yes, I know that, Merry. But still, I thought we were really living wild back then…”

Merry quirked a tiny smile and shifted around, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Get some sleep, Pip. It took the Ents this long to decide we’re not orcs. Maybe by morning they will have decided it’s time for them to ask Saruman to shove off.”

“Maybe.” Pippin squirmed around, pulling a rock out from under himself and tossing it away. “G’night, Merry.”

“Night, Pip.”

For a time there was blessed silence, and Merry settled down, drifting o-

“Merry?”

The exhausted hobbit resisted the urge to bludgeon himself against the nearest tree root. “What, Pippin?”

“What do you think happened to the Entwives?”

Merry turned over to face him. “The Entwives?” He propped his head on his hand. “I thought we were supposed to be sleeping?”

“I’m trying, Merry, I really am. But I can’t sleep on an empty stomach.”

“We’re in a forest with nuts and berries and mushrooms galore. Just pick something and eat it.”

“How do I know what’s safe, though? What if I end up accidentally eating someone’s relative? That’d be terrible!”

Merry blinked at him, then rubbed at his face with a groan. “You hurt my head sometimes, Pip.” He sighed and gave up on sleep, sitting up with a yawn. “I need a knife.”

“The orcs took mine.”

“Yeah, they took mine too. Find a sharp rock, then. Something I can rip this open with.” He gestured to his jacket.

Pippin gave him a baffled look, but started looking around. After a bit of fumbling, he finally found a rock with a jagged edge and handed it over. “What are you tearing at your coat for? Your Mum’s going to be mad if you ruin it.”

“You’ll see. Besides, it’s got so much muck ground into it that it’ll never come clean anyway.” Merry began to scratch the rock’s edge at the neat stitching until finally a corner of the jacket’s lining came away. He peeked in and sighed. “Well, it’s a bit banged up, so can’t say much for the presentation, but it should still taste fine.” He reached in and pulled out two leaf-wrapped packages, tossing one to his companion.

“Lembas!” Pippin beamed and tore into it with enthusiasm.

Merry took a bite of his own bundle of waybread, silently blessing whatever elvish magic kept it fresh after weeks of travel and orc captivity.

“So, I was thinking…”

Oh, Green Lady help him… “About what?” Merry asked warily.

“Do you think Old Man Willow is an Ent?” At Merry’s blank look, Pippin swallowed his lembas and went on. “You know, that cranky, hobbit-eating willow tree in the Old Forest? Treebeard did say that sometimes Ents turn tree-ish, and sometimes trees turn Ent-ish.”

“Yes, Pippin, I do know who Old Man Willow is. I live a lot closer to him than you do.” Merry hummed and thought, wishing he still had his pipe (or dared smoke it while around so many angry trees). Thinking was so much easier with a nice bowl of Longbottom leaf. “Well… I guess maybe he could be. But most likely he’s one of those Huorns Mister Bombadil told us about.”

Pippin seemed disappointed. “So probably not.” He sighed. “That’s a shame, though. It would have been nice to be able to help Treebeard find the Entwives.”

Merry hummed non-committally. He highly doubted the cranky old willow tree would lift a single frond to help anyone, even if he DID know what became of the missing shepherdesses.

It was a shame Gandalf was gone. The old wizard probably would have known exactly where to find them. Or at least where to start.

****

The white wizard peered down at Merry, surprised. “The Entwives?” His eyes grew distant for a moment, his lips curling into a smile tinged with regret. “I am afraid, Master Meriadoc, that there are limits to even my great wisdom. The passage of the Entwives has been one of the greatest mysteries of the Third Age.” He placed his hand on the young hobbit’s shoulder and guided him along the streets of Minas Tirith.

“Passage.” Merry’s heart sank. “So they ARE dead.”

“Ohh, not necessarily, my boy.” He pushed a set of scarred doors open and stepped inside. “You said Treebeard’s words were that they were ‘lost’.”

“That’s what he said. I just figured maybe he didn’t want to admit they were really gone.” Merry looked around, eyes widening at what seem to be hundreds – if not thousands – of books lined up on shelves, fragile scrolls yellowed with age shoved haphazardly into every spare nook and crevice. "Green Lady's love.... I thought Bilbo said Erebor had the biggest Library in Middle Earth! This is... I didn't know the world even HAD this many books and scrolls."

Gandalf chuckled. "I can say from experience that while both realms have impressive collections, this one is actually bigger. Histories from all over the West have been recorded and preserved here, dating back to the earliest days of the Elven realms."

Merry perked. "So this place might have writings on the Ents and the old forests?"

"Indeed." The old wizard browsed the stacks of parchments, pulling out a scroll here, a book there. Even a few carved and painted pieces of wood. He unrolled a map on the nearby table and beckoned Merry over.

"Now THIS is a proper map!" The young hobbit looked it over, then focused on where Gandalf's finger pointed. "The Brown Lands?"

"Yes. Though they were not always called such. Once upon a time, they were the gardens of the Ents. The Entwives tended to them for hundreds of years."

"What happened?" Merry asked.

"The Enemy happened." Gandalf sighed. "During the last great War, when the Alliance between the Elves and Men marched toward Mordor, the Enemy sought to halt their progress. By burning every bit of farm land east of the Anduin."

"But that's... that's..." Merry was speechless. The idea of ANYONE, even someone as twisted and evil as Sauron, scorching acres and acres of land for no reason other than so no one else could use it... "Disgusting."

"Yes, that it was."

"So that's when the Entwives died? They were burned with their gardens?"

"Some of them, perhaps. But not all. Most fled west over the Anduin, likely headed for the forests of Fangorn and Lorien. And were never seen again."

"But how can that be? How can you miss a great big tree taking a stroll through the forest?"

"I know not, my boy. But if there were any sightings recorded, they would be here."

Merry sighed and pulled up a stool. "And the Huorns? Would there be any writings on them?”

“Possibly. But if you plan to do what I think you plan to do, I won’t advise against it, but do consider this: even if you found one who was willing to help you and HAD what you were looking for, would you be able to understand it? The language of the forest is dreadfully complex. Even I can only understand an occasional word if I am very fortunate.”

“I have to at least try, Gandalf.”

“I know, young Meriadoc, I know. You Tooks can never resist a crusade.”

Merry puffed up. “Oi! I’m a Brandybuck, thank you, good sir!”

The White Wizard merely chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Good luck to you then, Master Hobbit. May you find the answers you seek.”

“Thanks.” Merry rubbed his hands together, then reached for the nearest scroll.

****

“Come on, Pip! Keep up!” Merry grunted, nearly tripping over a tree root.

Pippin glared at his companion and hefted his end of their burden. “It’s not like this is heavy or anything! Just because YOU are freakishly strong doesn’t mean the rest of us are!”

Merry rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, it’s heavy. I’m sure you wouldn’t be putting up this much fuss if it was a barrel of ale, now would you?”

“No, you’re right about that. At least I’d be getting a nice, refreshing pint afterwards!”

His cousin dangled the carrot. “We still could, once we get this over with. My treat.”

Pippin perked and picked up his pace. Anything that ended with a nice mug was just fine with him! “So, do you think this will actually work?”

Merry let his end of the dirt pile drop to the ground. “No idea.” He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the loud pop of his joints. “This could be a lark, but everything I read in those scrolls and every gardener I asked all agreed that a good change of soil can sweeten the disposition of even the moodiest of trees.”

“Well, there’s certainly none moodier than this one.” Pippin eyed the gnarled willow tree. “Any chance we could just leave this here and let him help himself?”

The older hobbit handed him a shovel. “I don’t plan to find out. He’s usually asleep for the next couple hours and it’s supposed to rain tonight, so let’s get this done. There’s a pint of Buckland’s finest with my name on it.”

“Right.” Pippin began to spread the rich, dark soil along the willow’s furthest roots. “When do we have to do this again?”

Merry shoveled his own load of soil in a fine layer. “Once a week for the next three months at least.”

“So more like six months, then.”

“Probably. If we’re lucky. But if we can help Treebeard and his kin find the Entwives…”

Pippin beamed. “Entish matchmakers!”

The Old Forest echoed with the sounds of giggling hobbits. 

Old Man Willow slept.


End file.
